One Eyed Queen
by lisbeth00
Summary: Zoe Potter wakes up during the summer of her third year after a terrible accident. Hungry and weak, yet the food she eats is rotten and foul. What confuses her the most is her eye. Her single, terrible, blood red eye. Tokyo Ghoul Crossover. OOC. fem!Harry. creature!Harry. Rated M for Language and Violence. ON HIATUS: Will begin writing this again once Mistakes is finished.
1. Becoming a Monster

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Tokyo Ghoul, I am simply playing with the ideas and characters within those universes. Ishida Sui and J.K. Rowling own the ideas and characters associated with their stories.

 _You do not need to have read Tokyo Ghoul to understand this story, the crossover is loose in the sense that it is only the creatures that are brought into the Harry Potter universe, and none of the plot or characters. I would also like to put out a warning, as this story will be quite macabre, particularly this first chapter. It comes with the territory of having a man-eater for a protagonist._

* * *

 **Chapter One | Becoming a Monster**

 _The ghoul is a rare creature within the European magical world, as most of them are found in East Asia. It is a XXXXX (known wizard killer, impossible to domesticate or train) classified apex predator with the mind of a human. This keen mental ability makes it one of the most feared monsters one may have the misfortune of encountering in their travels._

 _The average ghoul resembles a regular muggle in appearance, yet hidden beneath their relatively unimposing exterior is unbridled power. Ghouls have strength above and beyond that of a human, be they magical or mundane. On average, a ghoul's strength is five times and upwards of a humans. Additionally, a ghouls skin is quite hardy, being spell resistant and largely unaffected by physical attacks._

 _Ghouls subsist solely on human flesh due to a differing digestive system and a dependency on a specific nutrient found in human flesh. They are incapable of eating the food a human would regularly eat, as well as finding regular food to taste foul and inedible. This revulsion towards regular food is due in part to tongue structure. In the case that a ghoul does eat something other than human flesh they will become violently ill, regurgitating the food shortly after consumption._

 _The identifying visual attributes of a ghoul are their kagune and kakugan, gaining their names from Mōri Washuu, a Japanese traveler who came across the creatures in the fifteenth century._

 _The kagune is a ghouls primary weapon, an appendage they can grow and form at will which takes on different attributes depending on where it grows from the ghouls body (see pp. 548 for details on the different types of Kagune). The most versatile kagune is that of the rinkaku, which is produced from the small of the back. The rinkaku is capable of being manipulated into different shapes by a sufficiently skilled and imaginative ghoul, making them quite the formidable predator._

 _A kakugan is the result of the ghouls eyes changing when excited, hungry, or when their kagune is activated. The ghouls iris's turn red in these instances, the sclera and surrounding tissue turning a deep black that may be broken up by a smattering of iridescent red veins throughout the sclera, as well as markings on the eyelid._

 _The rarest of ghouls is one that bears a single kakugan. These are mentioned throughout history and are regarded as something close to a myth due to their incredible rarity._

 _If one encounters a ghoul it is highly recommended to flee, as the creatures are considered to be nearly as dangerous as a nesting dragon or nundu when they are hunting or angered._

 _Thankfully, ghouls are incapable of wielding wands, staves, foci, and producing spell magics in any shape or form._

 _\- Newt Scamander: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them; Beings and Other Sentient Magical Creatures_

-::-

Life is fucking weird. Well, _my_ life is weird, although that's probably the understatement of the century. I'm a witch for one, not exactly a common talent to be found. I did the math; a fraction of one percent _at the most_ of the British populace is born with the ability to use magic. Fifty-seven million people living in Britain, and the wizarding population is a whopping forty five thousand. It's a bit of an exclusive club.

So, why is my life so fucking weird? Well, I'm hunted by one of the most feared psychopaths in the last century for some unknown reason, I'm nearly killed every _goddamn_ year at 'the safest school in the world,' and I'm _blessed_ with the most ungodly, unfair, and absolutely utterly ridiculous (bad) luck.

This _luck,_ means that I get hit by a car walking across the street in a bloody school zone. A goddamn car.

I'm currently sitting here staring at the wall, waiting to get on with my day and get out of this hospital. No matter what, I _really_ don't like hospitals. Muggle or magical, doesn't make a difference. I think it's the smell of antiseptic, that stuff stings the nostrils.

The nurse walks in carrying a tray of food, smiling at me as she lays it upon the little table on wheels they have set up next to my bed. You know, they really should have one of these at Hogwarts so that I don't have to balance a plate in my lap.

"Thanks," I rasp, my throat slightly dry from disuse and a lack of water. Ice chips can only do so much.

She smiles at me again, setting down a fork on the table. "Take it slow, alright love?" she says. "It's your first meal in a little while and you don't want to get sick."

I purse my lips slightly and nod at her, pinching a grape between my fingers and tossing it into my mouth as she leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

I nearly retch at the taste, the juice of the grape bursting from it's crushed container isn't sweet and tart. It tastes burnt, like rotten meat. I grab a napkin and scrape the filth off my tongue, taking a deep drink of water to cleanse the taint from my mouth. I open up the napkin and look at the half-chewed fruit, expecting to see a puddle of decomposed gunk. To my surprise and confusion, the grape looks completely and utterly normal.

I look at it out of the corner of my eye as I grab a piece of lightly buttered toast and start to munch on that instead. Grimacing, I nearly spit out the toast as well. What the hell is going on? What appears to be a perfectly normal grape doesn't taste like a perfectly normal grape, instead feeling absolutely poisonous. The toast I'm attempting to force down my throat has the flavour and texture of ashes and cardboard. Is this some sort of test? Am I on TV?

Whatever, it's not like I haven't subsisted off of scraps before. I grit my teeth and throw back the 'food' as quickly as I can, washing the small yet vile meal back with sips of water. At least the water tastes like… well, _water._

Halfway through the meal and I can feel my stomach churning, the disgusting hospital food apparently eager to leave my body. I stumble out of the bed on unsteady legs, nearly tripping as I awkwardly shamble to the en suite bathroom to empty my stomach. Retching, I paint the inside of the bowl with my meal, wiping the acrid gunk away from my lips before rinsing my mouth out in the sink. Even subsisting off of scraps can only go so far it seems.

Exhausted, I climb back into bed and stare at the ceiling, apparently still weak from the surgery.

I wonder if Dumbledore knows I'm in the hospital. Whether Ron or Hermione have gotten news that I nearly died. I just _know_ I'm going to be interrogated by the two of them when I get out of here.

How ironic would that be? I can go up against dark wizards and demons, but a distracted driver was the one to do me in. I'm sure Voldemort would find that absolutely _hilarious_ , although I think he'd be a bit frustrated to not have been the one who puts me six feet under.

Sirius! What if Sirius finds out I'm here? He wouldn't risk getting caught just to visit me, would he? Shit! I cross my fingers and hope that he doesn't do anything rash. I just got him into my life, I couldn't possibly lose him so soon.

The nurse walks back into the room to collect my dishes, frowning slightly as she notices most of the meal is uneaten.

"Are you able to eat any more love?" she asks, tutting quietly under her breath. "You're thin as a rail!"

I chuckle lightly, tensing at the pain in my chest. That car really did a number on me. "I haven't got much of an appetite right now, but thanks for the concern," I mumble.

"Well, just sit tight for a few minutes. The doctor will be in soon to see you," she comments, picking up the half empty tray and cleaning up quickly before leaving.

A couple monotonous minutes go by before the doctor enters the room with a slight smile on his lips, nodding at me as he shuts the door, clip board in hand and a few pens hastily tucked into his pocket. I study him quietly as he fusses over his notes, jotting down a few things here and there while murmuring quietly.

He's a tall man, who looks to be middle aged, sporting a kind, broad face and neatly trimmed blond hair, a bit of white coming in at the fringe. He taps his notes absentmindedly with his pen before smiling at me again and clearing his throat.

"It's good to see you healthy and well Miss Potter, you had us worried for a couple of days there," he says, reaching over to shake my hand. "My name is Dr. Kanou, and I was your primary surgeon. A quick rundown on the damage…" he mutters, skimming over my file.

"Ah! There we go. We had to perform an organ transplant on you, replacing both of your kidneys and your liver due to injuries sustained from the crash. Apart from the internal damage, you had a few minor fractures in your legs and hips," he continues, turning the clipboard to me to display my x-rays. He points his pen at different points along my legs, explaining the breaks on my femur, fibula and a crack along my upper right pelvis.

"Thankfully, you seem to be quite the hardy kid," he chuckles. "Most people would have been hard pressed to come out of a crash like that in one piece. Surprisingly, your bones seem to be all but healed already. Never seen anything quite like it, and if you don't particularly mind I'd love to use this as part of a study I'll be conducting on healing bones. You seem to have a very rare physiology that promotes quick healing and regenerative functions."

"I'd be happy to help in any way I can," I answer, hoping that whatever weirdness I exhibit can be used to help other people. I hope it's not a witch thing and I've inadvertently broken the statute of secrecy.

"That's fantastic!" he claps. "I can leave your name out of the papers and simply refer to you by a pseudonym if you'd prefer."

"That sounds fine to me," I reply. "I'm not too keen to have my name plastered all over something, especially in a medical journal."

"I can imagine. Now, you seem to be right as rain and we're going to be getting you out of here soon. I bet you're getting cabin fever as we speak," Kanou smirks. "I'm just going to need you to sign a couple of forms, so I can hand them off to triage. Also, we don't have an emergency contact on file for you, so if you need a taxi home we can call one to pick you up."

I nod and thank him for the courtesy, declining the taxi as I quickly dash my signature off on the forms, happily stumbling out of bed and preparing to leave as soon as he exits the room. I grab my old clothes and a towel that was left for me off the bedside table and walk over to the one shower in the ward. I spend as much time as I can under the warm water, relishing in the heat of the spray as it washes down my back.

Feeling truly clean, I step out and dry off, tucking my hair behind my ear as I throw my clothes on, rolling up the sleeves on Dudley's old hand-me-down shirt and grumbling as I cinch the belt tight on the oversized jeans. You'd think the Dursleys would at least make an attempt to buy me proper clothes. Even _one_ skirt would be nice. Instead I look practically homeless tucked into the small tent that is Dudley's shirt. I really do hate those three. I think Petunia hates me the most because I remind her of my mother. Red hair, heart shaped face, full lips, everything the anorexic bitch herself never had. Spiteful bint.

I take my sweet time getting home, taking a short walk after I leave the hospital before deftly sneaking onto a bus headed to Little Whinging. I hop off at my destination, ignoring the drivers angry look at my fare dodging self in his rear-view mirror as he notices me leaving. I meander through the neighbourhood, eventually making my way back to Number 4, quietly opening the door as I sneak into the house. The bastards probably didn't even know I was in the hospital.

I tip toe up the stairs to my 'room,' fingers crossed that they don't hear me.

Of course, good things never happen to Zoe Potter.

"Girl? Is that you? Where the ruddy hell have you been?" Vernon bellows, the floorboards creaking under his enormous weight as he stomps into the foyer.

I sigh quietly, blinking slowly as I turn to look at him. Huh, mauve. That's a new colour for him.

"I was in the hospital Uncle Vernon," I explain, eye twitching slightly at the look of glee on his face when he hears the word 'hospital.' "I was hit by a car two weeks ago, I guess you didn't get the news?"

"No, I didn't hear," he comments, before his faces twists up in his usual furious expression. "But! Don't think you can get out of your chores, girl! The kitchen needs a waxing and the weeds are growing out of control!" he exclaims, wagging his chubby finger at me. "Well? Get to it!" he growls, stomping off to go eat second breakfast, or is it elevensies? If Vernon was half his height he'd be the most hateful, mustachioed hobbit to ever exist.

I grumble as I stomp into the shed, grabbing a pair of gloves and trowel as I set out to cleanse the garden of its dandelion invaders.

-::-

The day goes by surprisingly quickly. I guess it helps that I'm being kept busy with menial labour. Honestly, could they not do the chores for _one goddamn week?_ The Dursleys have to be the laziest sadists in the entire world. Hedonistic pricks.

I find myself ignoring the table scraps that I receive for dinner, as they taste just as horrid as the hospital food. Either there's a conspiracy to make me hate all kinds of food, or my taste buds are on the fritz.

I pen two quick letters to Ron and Hermione explaining why they haven't heard from me in a while, detailing my trip to the hospital and that I'm _perfectly fine_ apart from a frustrating sense of taste. I send off the letters with Hedwig after I cuddle with the snowy owl for a short while, having missed her in my time at the hospital. That bird has got to be one of the best things to have ever happened to me.

Bored, I lay back in bed and pull out a book, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,_ the second edition on sentient magical creatures, opening it to the dog-eared page I left it on. Hermione would have an absolute fit if she saw how I mark my pages.

I fall asleep with the book in my lap, drool slowly seeping out of the corner of my mouth.

-::-

I wake up to the most delectable smell in the world. It's sweet yet rich, tantalizing as it drifts across my senses. It's not something I've ever smelled before, but it's just so… familiar? I sniff at the air as I climb out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as my book clatters to the floor. I wince at the sharp noise, my ears stinging from the books crash.

Fully awoken by being startled, I trudge downstairs praying that I can get a bit of whatever smells so _bloody good_. I look around the kitchen, expecting to see pans filled with sizzling bacon on top of the stove, toast lathered in butter and golden, crisp hash browns pulled from the oven. Instead I see Petunia cradling her hand in a white cloth, red stains spreading across the fabric and a sharp knife lying on the floor.

I quickly walk up to help stem the wound, stopping sharply as I sniff again. The smell is so _close_ , something delicious... something _delectable_. I shake my head, clearing it of my thoughts as I pick up the knife and place it into the sink, jogging upstairs to the bathroom to grab a tube of antibiotic cream and gauze.

Quickly making my way back into the kitchen I silently help Petunia clean and dress the wound, wrapping it snug with the gauze. She looks confused, bewildered the whole time as I help her. I don't notice until I'm done fixing her up, instead focusing on the burgeoning sense of hunger that threatens to take over my mind. I'm no stranger to hunger, but I've never felt such a need, a _lust_ for food before. I'm still trying to find out where the food that I smell _is._

"Th- thank you," Petunia croaks, the words awkward as they tumble out of her mouth.

I look up at her to reply, to tell her it wasn't a problem, that I'd help anyone if they were hurt. As soon as I make eye contact with her she stumbles backwards, her uninjured hand holding tight to the kitchen countertop, knuckles white and a look of pure fear contorting her already unflattering features.

"Wh- _what the hell happened to your eye?"_ she gasps shakily.

"What are you talking about? My eye?" I ask, confused.

She points unsteadily to the left of my head, fingers flexing nervously. "Your. Eye. Is. Red," she states, each word enunciated clearly. "Your left eye is… it's _black and_ _red_. What did you do, girl? What did you _do?_ " She glances towards the sink, contemplating reaching in and grabbing the knife.

She forgoes this train of thought, obviously not intent in stabbing me to death for a simple gesture of good will. "I won't have this- this… _freakishness_ in my house, you hear me? You'll stay in your room so that the neighbours can't see what you've done to yourself! Out! _Out!"_ she cries, waving her injured hand towards the stairs.

I frown, raising my hands in surrender as I leave to go to the loo. _Of course_ I can't do something nice for the bitch, she'll still turn it around on me. Find a way to let the _freak_ know that she's not normal. Find a way to stamp it out. I didn't even get a chance to have breakfast for Merlin's sake!

I turn the tap on cold and rinse my face, blinking heavily as I wipe the water away from my eyes and-

"Holy shit!" I croak, staring at my reflection.

My fucking eye _is_ red! What!? Why is my eye red? No wonder Petunia was having a fit, that looks downright _terrifying!_ I mean, it doesn't excuse her being a complete and utter cow, but my eye _does_ look grotesque.

I trace a vein from down my eyelid, one of three sharp staggered lines lancing down my face towards my cheek. Why is all this so familiar?

I groan and finish washing my face after staring at it for another few minutes, walking into my room and throwing myself unceremoniously onto my bed. I really hate the summers. Why is my life so fucking weird?

-::-

I'm locked into my room yet again, a sense of disgusted nostalgia running through me as I remember my time trapped here after first year and how Ron and the Twins rescued me. Really, it was quite idiotic of them to _fly_ a bloody car out to Little Whinging and tear the bars off my window. Idiotic, but the nicest gesture anyone has ever made for me.

I stew in the heat, the sun bearing down on my room most of the day since it faces west, the temperature oppressive, muggy, and stifling. I lie in bed drenched in sweat for most of the week, too exhausted to move around except for the daily blessing of a cold shower, the frigid water running down my body like a balm.

The small plates of stale bread and cheese that I'm given for meals are foul, like chewing rotten eggs. Thick, congealed filth that I attempt to cram down my throat lest I waste away. I always end up ill, violently sick and sobbing quietly as I try to keep the food down. Always. It doesn't matter how much or little I eat. I can't make it to the toilet due to being locked in, the acrid smell of stomach acid festering in the sun-baked room.

One day I smell it, that same fascinating scent. Something delicious wafting through the air, a home cooked meal that I'm not allowed to enjoy. _Never_ allowed to enjoy. I quiver and shake as I try to hold down the sense of hunger, the burning terrible _need_ for food. I press my hand tightly against my empty stomach, feeling it rumble and growl underneath my trembling fingers.

I need to eat.

I climb out of bed, sweat drenched hair clinging to my face. I careen into the wall, my legs weak beneath me. Steadying myself, I shuffle to the door and tentatively turn the knob, almost crying in relief when it opens, the hinges whistling and creaking as the door glides over the floor. It seems the Dursleys forgot to lock me in.

Shambling like a zombie I stumble down the stairs, following the sweet smell like a lifeline with my nose raised high in the air. I walk along its trail, my bare feet sticky on the hardwood floor. I almost groan aloud as the scent grows stronger. I'm getting closer, closer to something so very _tantalizing_.

The sight confuses me. Petunia is yet again standing alone in the kitchen, her hand pinching tight the same wound that damned me a week ago. She shrieks when she sees me standing there looking like death warmed over, raggedy clothes draped over sharp, angular bones. Skin stretched impossibly tight against empty limbs.

I lick my lips, _tasting_ the air, zeroing in on the source of what has tempted me out of my prison.

I lock eyes with Petunia, lying awkwardly on the floor as she holds her reopened cut, apparently in need of stitches instead of a quick dressing. Blood dribbles between her fingers, a small drop falling towards the floor, the patter of it striking the linoleum almost deafening.

I stumble forward, hand awkwardly held out toward Petunia's injured one, my wrist shaking as I reach to her. I lightly grab a hold of her hand, drawing it up in front of me as I stare at the unhealed wound. Blood glistens, fresh bright red against the unearthly pale of her skin, globules welling up against the ragged, scarred slice in her palm.

Before I know it, I lunge.

I bite deeply into her hand, tearing flesh from bone, the rich sweet taste flooding my mouth as I rapidly, desperately chew, Petunias screams falling on deaf ears. I lose my mind, ripping into the anthropomorphic meal in front of me, my whole mind dedicated to the action of feeding, completely and utterly animal as I'm lost to baser instincts.

I come to an hour later, soaked in blood and lying next to a horribly disfigured lump of flesh, Petunia long since dead.

Confused and hysterical I stand up and take witness to my frenzy. The walls are spattered in crimson, resembling an organic work of Pollock, bits of viscera strewn about the kitchen floor. In a state of shock, I run upstairs and throw myself into the shower, not even bothering to remove my clothes.

I let the scalding water beat against my skin, washing the filth and gore from my hair, a sickly pink puddle slowly collecting in the tub as it begins to clog with chunks and bits of what was once a woman. I nearly collapse against the floor, yet I feel so _alive_. I feel satiated, truly and completely full for once in my life.

It sickens me.

Trembling, I turn off the shower, my mind slowly coming back to life as I realize that I need to leave. _Now._ I change into dry clothes, stealing a blouse and trousers from Petunias dresser, throwing my things into my trunk in a mad rush. I rush downstairs and reach out to the door knob, about to leave when I start to truly panic.

What do I do about the corpse in the kitchen?

Functioning on autopilot, I turn the dials on the stove, natural gas slowly flooding the kitchen, the sting of rotten eggs assaulting my sensitive nose. I wander for a few minutes, looking about the house as the gas ebbs out of the stove. The shelves that are tidy to the point of obsession, not a speck of dust nor a stain in sight. Porcelain knick-knacks lining the walls, uniform and perfect in their military straight lineup. Pictures of the family standing still above the fireplace, a picture from Christmas set dead centre. It was taken in the living room. If you look close enough you can see a flash of red hair in the corner of the frame. It's the only picture of me in the entire house.

I grab one of Vernon's old lighters off the kitchen counter and walk back to the front door. I exit the house, leaving the door open and looking back on the prison of my childhood.

Funny, they always said I was a monster. I guess it was true.

I flick the lighter open, rolling the flint wheel underneath my thumb and watching as a light orange flame bursts out the top. I stare at the flame for a while not really thinking of anything. Just staring.

I toss it through the open front door.

The explosion tears through the house, fireballs bursting from the windows and sending glass shrapnel flying in every direction. I don't notice as it bounces off my skin making nary a mark or cut. I do notice as the roof shudders and creaks under the force of the explosion, flames angrily licking out of the now empty windows.

As I walk away from Privet Drive I hear the roof forsake its efforts, collapsing under its own weight.

* * *

 _I think I have a thing for blowing up Number 4._


	2. Hunting

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Tokyo Ghoul, I am simply playing with the ideas and characters within those universes. Ishida Sui and J.K. Rowling own the ideas and characters associated with their stories.

* * *

 **Chapter Two | Hunting**

I wander Little Whinging, tired, confused, and terrified.

What have I done? What am I? _Fuck_.

I'm a monster.

It's true. All those years the Dursley's said I was a creature, a freak, some sort of bug to be squashed under foot and forgotten. It was all true, and Petunia is dead because of it. I hated her, yes. I hated her as much as one can hate a person. But I never wished her dead. Well, I occasionally did but _I_ didn't want to be the one to do her in.

I can feel bile in my throat as I remember the image of her corpse… or what was left of it. There was so much red. How could one body hold so much blood?

I walk through to the night, hours and hours spent going nowhere in particular. I spend the whole walk avoiding people. All I can sense when I see them is not people, but _meat_. I have to bite down on my hand a few times during my travels, groaning quietly as I supress the monster inside me, the monster that wants to eat _people_. I find myself in Guildford, with my legs surprisingly pain and ache free after the multi-mile trek. I wander some more looking for a place to stay before I remember that I have not a pound to my name in the muggle world.

I resign myself to finding a sheltered, hidden area. Somewhere that I can spend the night without being assaulted by some chav looking to take advantage of a teenage girl. I settle on an alley tucked beside a small coffee shop. The alley looks to be as safe as any alley could be, and Guildford isn't exactly known for it's incredibly high crime rate.

I grab a few pieces of cardboard out of the bin nestled against the wall, laying them down to form a makeshift mattress. I lay down awkwardly, using the wall as a makeshift headrest. I stay there for a little while staring at the sky and wondering what to do.

Do I go back to Hogwarts? Will Ron and Hermione still accept me as… as whatever I am? Will I be put down like some sort of animal? Do I…

Do I kill myself?

I feel my eyes sting with tears and dash them away along with my tentative thoughts of suicide. That's not an option. I've fought too long and too hard to even consider offing myself, even if I'm some sort of man-eating creature.

Creature! That's it!

I rummage through my rucksack, pulling out the copy of _Fantastic Beasts_ that I brought along with me. Hopefully this can shed some light on whatever is going on with me. I pry the book open, skimming through it quickly as I pass over different Beings and Beasts that don't describe me. Siren is out. Definitely not a Werewolf. _Maybe_ a Vampire?

Oh.

I stop in the middle of the book, staring dumbly at the word in front of me, disgust roiling deep inside as I read it again and again.

Ghoul.

I always thought ghouls were grave-robbers and carrion eaters, and this book dashed away all ideas of that when I first purchased it. Honestly, ghouls look to be one of the most terrifying things one can potentially come across in the world. A monster with a taste for human flesh that is essentially just a super-human itself in all ways but one, its diet.

I couldn't possibly be… well-, could I?

I did… I did _eat_ her. Ghouls eyes change when they're hungry or excited…

"Fuck!" I shout, angrily snapping the book closed. I'm a bloody man-eating, Merlin be damned ghoul. A fucking _ghoul._ I pore over the section repeatedly, taking in every bit of information that I can and dedicating a portion of my mind to it.

How did this happen? It was only after the surgery that I started to experience… whatever this is. Maybe the organs I received were from a ghoul? Does that even make any sense? I'm pretty sure one can't transplant organs from another _species_ , considering it's hard enough to transplant organs due to the need for a matching blood type… fuck. I'm not a biologist, this line of questioning is going to take me nowhere.

The glaring thing that stands out to me is that ghouls cannot use magic in any way. No magic whatsoever. I tentatively reach into my pocket and take out my wand, bracing myself before swishing it through the air. I nearly cry in relief as sparks fly, the red and blue lights shining like a beacon of hope as they flutter through the air and slowly fade away. I guess I'm a special case. Maybe it was because I was a witch first?

I stick my hand into my rucksack again, reaching in and taking out a small spiral bound journal and a pen. A quiet muttering of _lumos_ and I start to jot down notes as fast as my hand can keep up, the sound of the ballpoint scratching at the paper echoing quietly across the alley. After a few minutes I hold the journal out in front of me.

 _To do:_

 _\- Find somewhere to stay until Summer is over  
\- Figure out if I'm going back to Hogwarts  
\- Find "food"  
\- Criteria for food? Death Eaters? Other ghouls?_

Sighing, I tap my pen on the journal absentmindedly. Why does shit like this keep happening to me? Well, not like _this,_ but outlandish things that have no place in any regular person's life. I want to simply be normal. Is that too much to ask for?

The Girl-Who-Lived. The only killing curse resistant toddler, ghoul extraordinaire, and deeply closeted poof. I wonder if the wizarding world would accept me more easily as a monster than a lesbian. Bloody Victorian pricks. This country is a bigoted old mans paradise from what I've seen in the three years I've been a part of it. _Surely,_ I'll catch a lady's fancy as a murderous cannibal because that's _obviously_ everyone's type.

I put my journal and book away, tucking the rucksack behind me as a makeshift pillow as I roll over to my side and attempt to sleep.

-::-

I spend the next week on my feet, getting as far away from Number 4 as I can. For all I know there's a news bulletin out with my face plastered all over it demanding my arrest for premeditated murder along with a side of arson. Somehow, I don't get caught using magic even though I'm underage. My running theory is that my physiology has changed so much that I no longer register on whatever system the ministry uses.

I travel north, through Aylesbury to Old Stratford, feeling sorely tempted to take the turn off towards the village of Potterspury after noticing the sign off the motorway. I forgo the serendipitous little town and end up in Leicester, hungry and tired after my marathon to nowhere.

I've gotten accustomed to sleeping on the streets, bitterly laughing at one point when I realized that I am, for all intents and purposes, homeless. I dressed the part long before this, maybe it was just a matter of time.

As I walk past an old pub I overhear a conversation that immediately catches my interest. I believe myself to be delirious when the words drift into my ear. I know I've been feeling delirious the last day or two due to the hunger.

"You read the Daily Prophet? Emergency edition came out with dinner," a man wheezes excitedly, his voice dry and strained.

I quickly stand near a bus stop, semi-hidden from the man talking. I peek over to get a look at him and his friend. The one who I believe spoke first is short and squat, a ratty hat nestled lopsidedly upon the top of his head and a pipe lazily resting on his bottom lip, a small puff of smoke emitted between clenched teeth. His much taller and better dressed friend turns to him, shaking his head at the firsts question.

"No, can't say I 'ave," he replies. "What 'appened that's got you in a tizzy?"

"Get this," he says, waving his hands in a grandiose gesture. "Zoe bloody Potter is _dead."_

The other mans jaw drops, his eyes lighting up like a bulb as his gob-smacked expression morphs into a sickening grin. I recoil at his excited leer, his evident _joy_ that I've apparently kicked the bucket. Must be an ex-Death Eater.

Well, apparently I'm dead.

"Fuck off, not a chance," he argues. "The Dark Lord is avenged?"

"Avenged as avenged can be!" the short one crows, more smoke wafting lazily out of his mouth with each word.

Yep. Ex-Death Eater it is. I clench my hand angrily, fingers forming a tight fist as I stare angrily at the two. What kind of sick sons of bitches' _revel_ in the death of a teenage girl? Absolutely and utterly disgusting.

I watch as they wander off, taking a quick glance around me before following them, my nose raised high as I track them using the bittersweet scent of pipe tobacco. I've found throughout the last week that my senses are, well- super sensory. My hearing and sense of smell have improved dramatically, and the only real good change to come out of being turned into a ghoul is my eyesight. No need for glasses anymore it seems.

I continue dogging the two, my steps silent as I sneak after them, staying away from the light cast by street lamps and ducking deeper into the shadows every so often to avoid being spotted. They lead me through the city, out and away from the busier square littered with pub crawling twenty somethings and tired parents. I continue to follow them as the shops turn to neighbourhoods, and the neighbourhoods turn dingier and more foreboding with every step.

They soon come to a stop, the taller one waving his wand and unlocking the door to a classic brickwork townhome, the windows cracked and shuttered. Probably a bolt hole. I wait, holding in my breath as I watch the two enter.

What do I do now? Do I…

Do I fight them? _Eat_ them?

I grit my teeth, jaw set stubbornly forward as my mind fights back and forth, morality and hunger warring in my head. I thought ghouls only needed to eat once a month, but I've found I'm still a unique case even when it comes to being a monster. I start to salivate at the mere _idea_ of food. I shake my head and start tapping my fingers against the bark of the rotting tree that I'm huddled behind, the rhythm slowly settling my nerves.

The burning need in my stomach begins to win out. I've felt my sanity slipping this couple days due to the lack of food. How I stare at people on the street picturing my next meal, how I can sometimes just smell them in the air, how even a random passerby could smell so… delicious.

 _"Fuck it,"_ I whisper.

My stomach wins out over morality. If I'm going to be a monster I might as well fucking commit to it. People have been killed over less.

I walk up to the door, knees shaking slightly as I approach. I take out my wand and utter a quiet _alohomora,_ almost laughing out loud when the lock actually clicks. I guess the Death Eaters lack in brains as well as common sense. I mean really? Talking openly about the magical world and the death of the Girl-Who-Lived? Bloody idiots.

I silence the door knob before reaching out and turning it slowly, pushing the door open. Thinking quickly, I silence my shoes as well. I feel a tug, an _itch_ in my back as I creep forward with my ears perked up, listening attentively for any sign that I may have been noticed.

Quiet.

The home is actually quite clean, with fine looking flooring and an elaborately carved hand rail leading upstairs. Thankfully, there's no portraits in the foyer to announce my presence. I walk slowly, watching out of the corner of my eye for any sign of movement. I hear a creaking from the upper level. I turn and make my way up the stairs, each step filled with trepidation and my gut a pit of anxiety as I tread closer and closer to a fight.

I stick the top of my head out into the hallway and notice a sliver of light peeking out to my left. I keep my eyes and ears peeled as I stride towards the door, hearing glasses clinking and what I'm guessing by the sharp smell to be cheap liquor sloshing about those same glasses as the two men celebrate my apparent death.

The back of my shirt tears open as I kick the door down, a sickening red chunk of muscle flying out and spearing the man in front of me through the chest. His eyes bug out of his face in shock, blood dribbling and sputtering out of his mouth as he scratches feebly at the scaled appendage occupying the place where his right lung used to be. Looks like the tall one goes first.

I pull back, the kagune noisily sliding out of him, just in time for it to intercept a neon yellow light aimed at my head. I turn to look at the other man, his face ghostly white and the scent of fear flooding off of him. He grimaces, shouting loudly as he flicks his hand and a purple beam bursts from his wand, tearing a hole in my shoulder and causing me to stumble, roaring in agony.

I lash out instinctively with my kagune, the sides of it sharpening and twisting like barbed wire with but a thought as it careens into the mans legs, quite literally tearing them out from under him. He screams as he hits the ground, his jaw loudly striking the floor with a resounding crack, blood pouring from the ragged stumps beneath him.

I stride forward, clutching my injured shoulder as I kneel in front of him and lift his chin with one finger, staring into his eyes.

"The rumors of my death have been _greatly_ exaggerated, I can assure you," I whisper, his eyes widening in recognition and unadulterated fear.

"You- you're a monster _,"_ he coughs, blood spattering my face. "You're a gods damned _monster_."

"So it seems," I reply, wiping the gore from my face and shaking the bits from my fingers in disgust. "You were the one celebrating the death of a child."

He leers, spitting on the ground as he twists his head to the side to get a better look at me. "You killed our Lord, s' only fair that we throw a party," he hisses, the light slowly leaving his eyes and his voice slurring. "It's only- only fair w- we th…"

He slumps forward quite dramatically, dead before his head hits the ground.

I put my hands on my knees and push myself up from the floor to survey the room. I take in the pools of crimson that are slowly growing underneath my feet and the vacant, empty look on the first man I attacked, the surprise and pain permanently etched into his features.

A rumble in my stomach reminds me of why I'm there.

I hesitate briefly before tearing the arm off of the first man and biting deeply into the paling flesh. A slightly spicy tinge runs over my tongue, shocking me momentarily. Death Eaters taste like curry? I shrug mentally and dig in, working through a surprising amount of… _food_ before I'm eventually sated. I guess my appetite is monstrous as well. I notice after my meal that my shoulder seems to have healed on its own. Huh, guess I'm a rinkaku. The regeneration should come in handy.

I explore for a while, taking in the modest two-bedroom townhome. I could potentially stay here for the time being. It's quite spacious for one person and is close enough to the city centre if I want to get a job and lay low… but what if these guys friends show up? Well, it couldn't be any more dangerous than staying on the streets. I think I should be fine as long as I seal off the fireplace.

I find glassware containers in the kitchen and decide to plan ahead. I head back upstairs and begin the process of dismembering and sorting the two perished Death Eaters, placing meal sized chunks into the containers. I vanish the mess of blood and gore before I make my way back downstairs and tuck the containers into the icebox, shutting the door before freezing on the spot.

Why am I so nonchalant about the murders I just committed? Why am I- you know, _not panicking?_ Is this what my life has come to? I go with the flow to the degree that a double homicide doesn't even _faze_ me?

I sit down right where I'm standing, meditating on the turn my life has taken.

Am I okay with this because they were celebrating _my_ death? Am I comfortable with this because of changes wrought on my mind by my, for lack of a better term, ghoulification?

I don't know _why_ I'm evidently fine with my new bloodthirsty tendencies. I'm going to put it down to survival instincts. People do insane things when they're hungry, and ghouls apparently take that to a whole new level. Even now I can feel my mind returning, my newly found sadistic side disappearing into the recesses of my mind. Maybe I've finally snapped after three years of insanity. Killing teachers, giant snakes, and fighting off demons makes for a severely diminished moral compass it seems.

I take my rucksack off and rifle through it for my journal. I quickly scribble down a note, placing a large star next to it to remind me of its importance

 _* Food = strength and sanity, remember to eat_

I tuck the journal away, setting a colloportus and locking charm combination on the front door as well as pulling a book shelf out in front of it and finally wrapping that all up with an ill intent and alarm ward. Thank Merlin I took ancient runes with Hermione instead of divination with Ron last semester, better safe than sorry.

I slink back upstairs, claiming the now free master bedroom, tucking myself under the covers with relish as I proceed to enjoy my first rest in a proper bed since the summer began.

-::-

I wake up damp with sweat, the sheets tangled and clinging snugly to my body due to a lovely dream involving a wretched looking miniature Voldemort and Wormtail murdering a muggle groundskeeper. I rub the sleep from my eyes as I sit up, propping a pillow up behind me to support my head as I lay there and think.

That dream was too vivid. Too… _real_ to be just a dream.

I climb out of bed and take a quick shower before heading downstairs, munching idly on a disembodied thigh as I sit at the dining table.

What to do, what to do…

I push the eerily realistic dream out of my head as I focus on the present. The threat of Voldemort is always hanging over me like the sword of Damocles, and it's become second nature for me to just discount any Voldemort related worries unless they're immediately important.

I could always get a job so that I could stay busy. Would anyone hire an orphaned fourteen-year-old? It'd have to be under the table of course, but it's always an option. I just want to find a way to stay busy while I work out whether or not I do want to return to Hogwarts.

Does this place have a library?

I finish my breakfast, bones and all (which are surprisingly tasty, reminding me of fried chicken with their slight crunch. My jaw strength must be something obscene). I make my way back upstairs in the hopes that there might be some books that I can study tucked away in the sitting room, or that I may be lucky enough to happen across a proper library. I explored a bit last night, but I was too exhausted to really pay attention to my surroundings.

I clap excitedly when I do find a small library. Not an impressive one by any means, but it looks to contain a decent number of books focused on the more dark and esoteric brands of magic, as well as tomes on advanced transfiguration and charms theory. I pull out one of the books on charms and lay down on a large, very cushy couch, propping my new object of interest on my thighs as I begin to read.

-::-

I do manage to find a job, or as much of a job as anyone who's getting paid under the table can get. The owner of the pub has to be one of the most obnoxious sons of bitches I've met in my entire life though. Gives Vernon a run for his money when it comes to being mad at the world.

 _"Fuck off kid, I'm not looking for any new employees."_

 _"Not even a dishwasher? Bar bitch? I don't mind working late shifts," I argued, frustrated with the petulant restaurant owner._

 _He sneered at me, mulling over my offer and apparent enthusiasm to work a dead-end, bottom of the barrel job._

 _"Three quid an hour, you start tomorrow night," he ordered, tearing a stub off of a small notepad and scribbling a short note onto it before pinning it lopsidedly onto the noticeboard next to him. "Get some no-slips if you don't want to bash your 'ead in on the stove. You'll get paid in cash at the end of your shift."_

Yeah, he's real peachy.

Its kept me busy for the last month outside of my studies, and the month is slowly rolling from July into August as I celebrate my birthday alone. Alone, in this house previously owned by Death Eaters I murdered and ate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If only my parents could see me now, oh how proud they would be.

I've managed to nab a couple copies of the Daily Prophet from unsuspecting wizarding doorsteps in the area. I particularly enjoy the speculation as to my disappearance and presumed death, be it kidnapped by the American Ministry for Magic (simply for the reason of damning the colonies, rebellious yanks that they are), or that I've left to deal with a Dark Lord problem in the far east. What concerns me is how loudly Dumbledore is arguing that I am alive and well. I don't know _how_ he knows this and unsettles me a little.

He's always shown too close of an interest in me and my person, especially when I compare myself to the other students in the school. I understand that I'm a special case what with having _not_ died when I by all means _should_ have died. I'm just a touch perturbed by his focus on me. I think it's the sense of stranger danger that's instilled into all young girls. If any unfamiliar old man dotes on you too much he's probably up to no good. No, I don't think Dumbledore is a paedophile, but I do find it incredibly creepy how much involvement he has in my life. Honestly, the man is apparently responsible for me living with the Dursleys, there's no _way_ I can trust him after _that_ colossal fuck up. I can thank Hagrid for giving me that little bit of information. I love the guy, but he really can't keep a secret to save his life.

It's just after two in the morning when I leave work, the night chef… Justin? Jason? I never really got his name- _whoever he is_ locking up as we exit out the back. I have less than a second to react to the blur flying at my head as I bend down to readjust the straps on my bag.

I flinch out of the way on instinct alone, feeling the projectile whistle overhead where my face was just a moment ago. The chef isn't so lucky, the back of his head exploding from the force of the attack and peppering the rear door with displaced gray matter and bits of skull.

I leap into the air, wand out as I kick off the wall towards my attacker. Another ghoul by the look of things, their pupils shining a dim red in the low light of the back alley. He growls, the grotesque bat-like wings spread behind him flexing and sending another wave of projectiles my way.

Ukaku.

I activate my kagune, using the kinetic force from its release to twist through the air and dodge most of the flying chunks of liquid muscle. I cry out in pain as one lodges itself in my thigh, using my kagune to soften the fall as I crash to the ground. I quickly force myself up, tearing the flesh bullet out of my leg with one hand and casting a quick healing spell over the wound with the other. My rudimentary regeneration would take too long for a broken bone.

I flex my leg experimentally, forgetting the impromptu battle for a moment and grinning when I don't register any pain. I'm _so glad_ that I learned how to cast the bone mending charm. I knew that would come in handy.

The ghoul rears back when he notices the wand gripped tightly in my right hand, almost falling over as he begins to flee. Huh, I guess he's scared of witches?

I launch myself after him, taking advantage of his fear as I strike out, stabbing him through the arm as I simultaneously bind him with conjured ropes. He lands in a heap, sending dust and garbage flying as he slides into the ground. He moans quietly, trying to shake off his muddled mind from the crash, his eyes shut tight and head spinning from vertigo.

I cast another binding spell to be safe, using iron chains instead of rope this time. I march over and flip him onto his back, pushing him against the wall into a sitting position as I crouch in front of him.

"Why did you attack me," I spit, wand pressed directly between his eyes, bowing as it digs into the flesh. "Speak up, quick, before I decide you no longer require your head."

He looks up at me with clouded eyes and a dazed look on his face.

 _"Sm'l g'd,"_ he mutters, voice too quiet for me to pick up even with my enhanced hearing.

"What did you say?"

" _Smell good_ ," he clarifies, squinting slightly. "Something smelled… delicious. I think it's- it's you."

"Well, I'm flattered but I'm afraid to say I'm not on the menu tonight," I say, looking back at the now deceased- _Jordan!_ That was it! "He looks like he is," I continue, pointing at the corpse behind me.

I stay there, knees bent and staring at the ghoul. He doesn't look much older than me. Maybe sixteen? Seventeen? Starved by the looks of it, his cheekbones jutting out in sharp contrast against the sallow pale skin on his face. He must be a weak one for me to be able to defeat him so easily. It would explain his emaciated look.

"You… you'd just _let me go?"_ the ghoul quietly cries, shocked beyond belief.

"Well, they say, 'there is no free lunch,' and you look like you worked hard enough for a later dinner." I reply, removing the bindings from him. "I'm feeling generous tonight… but do know that if you attack me again, I won't hesitate to turn you into my next meal."

He gulps loudly, his throat bobbing as he nods nervously. "Wou- wouldn't dream of it Miss."

"Hey, you're older than me. No calling me Miss… Mister?"

"Danny," he says. "Just Danny."

"Well, just Danny. I'm just Zoe," I smile, sticking my hand out for him to shake. "You know you're the first ghoul I've ever met?"

He nods confusedly, ignoring my hand in his daze and shimmying over to the dead chef, glancing back at me every few second as if to remind himself that I haven't killed him. He starts to eat, looking everything like a nervous gazelle at the watering hole, muscles tensed and ready to flee.

I slowly walk over, kneeling down to his level as I rip off a bit for myself.

"I'm sorry I killed your friend," Danny mutters.

"S'fine," I mumble, the words coming out through a small mouthful of pectoral. "I didn't really know him, honest. I only remembered his name _after_ you offed him."

"Ah, o- okay."

"Chin up Danny, I'm not gonna' eat you."

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, sighing as he realizes that yes, I'm really not going to eat him.

"Friends?" I say, sticking my hand out again.

He hesitates, chewing his bottom lip before nodding slightly and clasping my hand.

"Friends."

* * *

 **Guest:** I looked for crossovers like this on a whim a week back and was really disappointed to find only a couple, and mostly unfinished ones at that. Zoe _will_ go back to Hogwarts, and the story won't ever cross over with the events in Tokyo Ghoul. It may if I decide to write a sequel, but I don't know how long I'm going to take to complete this so don't get your hopes up!

 **Eragon13579:** Thank you! I thought the idea would be a ton of fun to work with, and I'm a _massive_ fan of Tokyo Ghoul. I'll do my best!


	3. Making Do

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Tokyo Ghoul, I am simply playing with the ideas and characters within those universes. Ishida Sui and J.K. Rowling own the ideas and characters associated with their stories.

* * *

 **Chapter Three | Making Do**

Danny and I are lounging about at mine a week after we first meet, my feet propped up on the sitting room coffee table while he's lazily draped over a couch, legs waving in the air as we chat. He turned out to be a genuinely friendly guy, excitable, a bit nervous, but quite friendly.

"So, what brought you to Leicester? Apart from delicious ol' me of course. I thought ghouls were supposed to be rare in Europe."

Danny's all shoulders, his shrug so grandiose that it looks like his head is going to disappear. "No reason to be honest, I just sort of wander," he replies. "I was living in Germany recently, there's a large ghoul community over in Berlin. Bunch of bloody doves from out east showed up though, slaughtered half my friends. After that I decided that it was time for some change, so I came back to my home country."

"Shit," I say, rearing back. "I'm really sorry to hear that. Glad to see you made it out alright though. Also, quick question since I'm sort of new to all this… what the hell is a dove?"

Danny looks at me like I've grown a third, or fourth head. "You really don't know?"

"Can't say I do."

He scratches his chin, looking thoughtful for a moment. I'm beginning to notice that Danny is a very expressive person.

"Doves are… they're ghoul hunters. They're part of a group called the CCG. Just regular old humans with a hatred for our kind and the most disgusting weaponry I've ever seen," he shudders. "They- they make weapons _out of ghouls_. Quinque's they call 'em. They literally tear the kakuhou right out of you to make them."

I shudder with him, terrified of the idea of someone pulling bits out of me and turning them into some sort of organic weapon.

"By the way… what did you mean by _new to all this?"_

I sigh, running my hands through my hair as I think of how to explain my situation. It's not every day that someone gets turned into a ghoul, even someone as horribly unlucky as me.

"I… well- I uh, I wasn't _always_ a ghoul," I confess. "Actually, I've only been one for about… nearly two months now? I was in an accident, needed an organ transplant. I think some crazy fucker stuck ghoul organs in me instead of human ones."

Completely speechless, Danny stares at me for a couple of minutes, jaw open as he blinks dumbly.

"You'll catch flies like that."

"Buggering fuck! You're a one-eye!" he cries, arms waving wildly. "An actual, honest-to-god hybrid!"

"What?"

"I… heard things when I was in Berlin from one of the Kommandant's, sort of like the bosses of their territories," he explains at my confused look, before his eyes flit around nervously, as if someone is about to jump out the shadows and cry ' _gotcha!_ '

"The Kommandant mentioned this doctor who tried to recruit them, mad scientist type in real life. The guy wanted to experiment on ghouls and humans, see what makes us tick right? Turns out he was trying to make hybrids, one-eyes."

"… and how do you know all this?"

"I'm- I _was_ pursuing a master's in biology, primarily epidemiology," he admits, evidently a sore spot that he wasn't able to complete his schooling. "He tried to hire me through my Kommandant to work with him as an assistant. I refused, of course. I may be a ghoul but there's no chance in hell that I'm going to slice someone up in some unregistered lab. I still have _some_ morals."

"A masters? Aren't you about my age?" I ask, incredulous.

"Nah, baby face. I'm twenty-five," he smirks. "I'm sure I'll still look fantastic in ten years."

"Wait, wait- go back a second. What… what was the doctors name? The guy who tried to hire you?"

"Kanou, Akihiro Kanou."

" _Son of a bitch!"_ I growl, my eye shifting reflexively. My blood pumps wildly as I smash my fist into the coffee table, splitting it in two in my fury. "That conniving, no good psychopath! He turned me into a goddamn ghoul!"

Danny sticks his hands up to try and calm me down, but I reflexively flick my wand out, banishing him into the far wall. I snap back to attention immediately, rushing over to him to make sure he's alright. I really hope I didn't just kill my new friend.

"Shit, shit, shit! I'm so sorry! Are you alright? Danny? You still there?" I murmur frantically.

"I'm good, I'm good," he croaks, rolling over to pull himself back up. "Just startled the shit out of me there."

I reach out and clasp his arm, yanking him back to his feet and brushing him off to make sure he really is alright. If anyone knows that people lie about their health, it's me.

"So… what's with the freaky witchcraft stuff? I never got around to asking."

"Well, it actually _is_ witchcraft," I confess, tilting my head when he doesn't noticeably react. Not even a raised eyebrow. "You don't seem too surprised?"

"Zoe, I'm a ghoul. I don't think learning magic exists really stretches my mind," he laughs. "Honestly, it looks to be pretty bloody cool."

I smirk, twirling my wand before putting it back in my sleeve.

"Show off."

 _"Pfft,"_ I gibe back, sticking my tongue out. "If you carried one of these with you every day for a couple of years you'd learn a few tricks as well."

Danny raises his hands in surrender, grinning slyly. "So, what _can_ you do with that thing… _wand?_ "

"Wand," I confirm. "I can do quite a bit, but I'm still only a student…"

I plop down into my seat, guilt washing over me.

Hogwarts.

I still haven't decided what to do! I don't- I don't think I want to go back. It wouldn't be safe, not for me, and not for my friends. Hell, they think I'm dead anyways. I might as well try to cut ties when things are simple, or as simple as things can be. Fuck, even _Hedwig_ left after I was turned… she just disappeared into the night on my trip up north. I really loved that owl.

No... I'm not going to go back. As much as I like to entertain the idea of turning Draco into breakfast, I think he and his goons would give me terrible indigestion. I can't risk being strung up by the Ministry as a monster, executed for something I had no control over. Hell, they'd kill me on principle. I did slaughter and devour my Aunt after all.

"Hey, you good?" Danny asks, leaning towards me.

"Yeah, yeah," I reply, waving him off. "Just thinking about some things. I don't think I'm going to go back to school. Too dangerous for me. If anyone found out that I'd been changed… well- let's say ghouls are classified as one of the most _dangerous_ creatures in the known world by wizarding kind. I'd be summarily executed if someone even caught an inkling of me being turned. No trial, no investigation, just off with her head."

"Shite."

"My exact thoughts," I sigh. "It really sucks though, I look forward to going there you know? Get away from my _loving_ family for most of the year, see my friends, stay in the most fantastic place I've seen in my entire life."

I stop for a moment, picking away at some unseen blemish on my arm. "It was the first place I ever thought of as home. Not a house. _Home_. It just- it's special to me."

"You want to tell me about it?"

I smile. This is what I mean about him being nice. _Genuinely_ nice. Not that faux-nice, that fair-weather friend kind of interest where they extend the _idea_ of nicety.

"It's beautiful. This… millennia old castle. It's in the mountains somewhere up in Scotland. I never really actually bothered to find out exactly where it is," I laugh, my voice laced with a tinge of homesickness. "There's talking portraits, moving staircases, ghosts, even a poltergeist with an absolutely horrid sense of humor. The grounds are incredible, just this vast expanse of completely untouched land. No skyscrapers, highways, or pollution. Just a massive lake, an equally massive forest, and a whole lot of virgin Scottish highland."

"That sounds incredible," he says, an unmistakeably sad look on his face. "I'm sorry you're not going back."

"It really is incredible," I lament. "And me too."

-::-

I manage to adapt to my new life quite smoothly by throwing myself into my work. I got "promoted" to line cook after Jordan disappeared, earning myself a measly twenty-five pence raise. At least, everyone _thinks_ Jordan disappeared. Turns out he was getting paid under the table as well. The guy had a few outstanding warrants for his arrest. Apparently, he dabbled in dealing heroin and armed robbery as a weekend job. I didn't know him that well, but I'm not going to mourn his passing if those were his methods of earning a bit of extra cash. The only thing I'm having trouble with is the fact that it's hard to tell if the food I cook is good now that I can't taste it, but I think ten years of indentured servitude makes for a good chef.

Danny gets a job as well, tutoring students at the local college. He enjoys teaching from what I've heard of his excited ramblings, and he's helped me to better understand a ghoul's physiology. Scamander's book only covers so much, not really going into detail on the actual function of ghoul specific organs, the most important one being the kakuhou.

The kakuhou is the source of all things ghoul, and what me and Danny guess to be what was transplanted in me in addition to the other organs mentioned, if those were even transplanted at all. Its this sort of organ sac located in a ghoul's body, and is what stores and manipulates RC cells, splitting and forming into the kagune when activated. RC cells are sort of like the mitochondria, and they're the "powerhouse of the ghoul" as Danny put it. I still don't get why he found that so funny.

It's actually quite fascinating to be honest, and I'm excited to learn something new, especially something that directly affects me. I don't know why the Sorting Hat was torn between Gryffindor and Slytherin when I just as easily would have done well in Ravenclaw. Well, that's _my_ opinion at least.

The month rolls by into September, and I'm left wanting. It hurts knowing I'm not going back, knowing that I _can't_ go back. I'm doing all I can to study and train with the books I have at my house, but they're predominantly theory, the _ideas_ behind magic instead of actual spells and their uses. Sure, there's a couple spellbooks in the library, but they're not what I need, what I _want_. Funny, how I miss the Hogwarts library of all places. Pince's stern gaze as she surveys her domain, every book kept in pristine condition by the students imagined fear of dismemberment. I still don't know where that rumor started.

I'll miss McGonagall's exasperated tutting as she finds me, Hermione, and Ron caught up in another adventure. The way Professor Babbling does just that- babbles. How I could see the excitement in her eyes as she detailed a simple ward scheme, and the pride she exhibited when we understood it. Hagrid and the goofy little smiles he got when he discussed some new animal he was interested in, the constant sense that he just enjoyed life and all its creatures, no matter how terrifying they may seem to the average witch or wizard.

I'm going to miss Ron, the way he seems to shine when quidditch is brought up, how he can run circles around anyone in a game of chess, his sarcastic sense of humor. I'll be honest. I won't miss his table manners, but he's still one of my closest friends.

Hermione… Hermione I'll miss the most of all. She was the first person I ever really talked with, the first girl my age who deigned to allow me to be her friend. Hell, she was my first friend _period_. I'll never be able to tell her how I feel. How I feel about _her._ How I can watch her for days on end as she studies, soaking in all of her little idiosyncrasies as eagerly as she soaks in knowledge. How I adore the way she squints just _ever so slightly_ when she comes across a new piece of information. How her eyes brighten when she masters a spell. The way her lips quirk in the tiniest of ways when she catches me staring, like she knows everything there is to know about me.

Like she knows that I love her.

I grumble quietly as I come up to my house, pushing away my brooding thoughts and placing a quick notice-me-not on myself. I glance around the destitute neighbourhood for a second, making sure the coast is clear before leaping through the open second-floor window. Me and Danny have found it easier to enter the home in a more ghoulish fashion, leaving the front door locked and barred, along with the home being held under a decent layer of wards that I've slowly added throughout the last month. If there's one thing the library boasts, it's books on warding.

My shoes click steadily against the floor as I head to my room, unburdening myself of my rucksack and work uniform. I throw myself into the shower, the hot water a blessing as it works away the aches and pains of a day long spent standing. Even with my strength as a ghoul I still find it wildly uncomfortable to stand for hours at a time. I guess that's a universal.

A knocking at the door and the muted announcement of _'dinner is ready'_ brings me back to the waking world. I shut off the tap and stand for a few moments, basking in the steam. After drying off and putting on some clean clothes, I walk to the dining room, the smell of a home cooked meal greeting me before I see the food. Odd, since the food looks to be quite raw.

Danny has plated different cuts and strips of bloodied meat, tastefully arranged (or as tastefully as long pork _can_ be arranged) cyclically, each piece uniform and layered under the previous and over the next. I smile thankfully at him as I take my seat, stabbing a slice with my fork and drawing it up to my mouth.

It melts in my mouth, I methodically chew at the tender piece of meat tasting of rich peppered steak and roast brussels sprouts. I moan audibly as I savour the food, letting it sit on my tongue for just a moment before swallowing it down, my mouth feeling empty as it disappears- already missing the magnificent flavour and texture of what is my first gourmet meal.

"Where on _earth_ did you find this?" I demand, another bite already on its trip up.

Danny chuckles wryly, crossing his arms and tapping his fork on the table. "I smelled someone who was just too good to pass up," he replies, taking a bite of his own and chewing slowly. "I know we don't need to eat for another week or so, but I didn't want it to go bad."

"Well, you've certainly outdone yourself," I say, saluting him with my fork. "My compliments to the chef and his wonderful nose."

He laughs outright at that; a deep belly laugh that reverberates through the room. "I thought you could use a good meal on a day like today," he mentions, concern washing over his features.

Ah. He knows what today is. I think I'm going to hate September first more than I ever hated Halloween.

"Thank you. This is probably the nicest, most macabre thing someone has ever done for me," I joke, doing my best to force away the unmistakable feeling of loneliness lurking just outside my mind.

"Do you… do you want to talk about it?"

"…I- I'm not sure. It's something I never thought would happen, you know? Leaving Hogwarts… leaving the wizarding world. I thought I'd found a home, _my_ home when I was introduced to it. The energy of it all would leave you breathless," I effuse, a bittersweet excitement bubbling up inside me.

" _You_ leave me breathless," he retorts, posing regally. I have to hold in a laugh at how terribly close he is to Lockhart's pompadour act.

"Yeah?" I rattle on, smirking at how thoroughly unashamed Danny is. "Hey… listen, Danny the Great, O' Danny Boy," I begin, stopping myself just as the words are about to come out of my mouth. Is this really going to be how I come out of the closet? Telling someone who's jokingly hitting on me over a heaping plate of human meat that I'm gay?

Ah fuck it. He already knows magic exists, I can't imagine him reacting violently to me playing for the other team. "I just don't swing that way. Unless you grew a smashing pair of tits over the weekend, I can't really see _us_ happening," I jibe, rejoicing internally at his complete lack of a reaction.

He cries out, hand clutching at his chest as he throws his head back. "What shall I ever do now? How can I compete with women? Have you seen them? I've got nothing on them!"

"Well, that doesn't mean I can't be your second, right?"

His head flips back up, confused. "Second?" he queries. "Is that some sort of London lingo? Haven't really heard that before. You've gotta' remember that I've been living in Berlin for the last five years."

I smack my head. I can be so clueless sometimes. "No, no. Second is a wizarding term. It means… what the hell is the word. Wingman? Is that it?"

"Now _that_ I understand," he says. "And if you need me to help you find some nice lady who doesn't mind the possibility of being _literally eaten out,_ I've got your back."

" _Oh my god!"_ I cackle, reaching over the table and smacking his arm. "And I thought _I_ had a shitty sense of humour!"

We joke and talk all through the night, my thoughts of Hogwarts forgotten for the moment.

-::-

My legs shudder, the sharp ache lancing from my calves to my thighs, my back straining under the monumental effort. I gasp, deep shaking breaths so large my chest feels like it will burst.

"Stop locking your knees!"

I drop the bar, the one hundred kilo weight striking the mat with a deafening clatter, the reverberations running through my tired body.

"I'm trying my best!" I gasp, wiping the sweat from my forehead. "I thought I had super strength! Why do I have to work out?"

Danny flicks me on the forehead, causing me to rear back and rub at the stinging patch of skin. "First off, it's good for the body _and_ mind. Secondly, this will help you get more in tune with your new self. If you want to survive as a ghoul you need to be at peak condition," he explains, looking like the smallest drill instructor to have ever walked the Earth. "And now, we spar."

I don't even have a chance to reply before he's dashing towards me, kagune sprouting out of his back and firing at me as his leg whips towards my head. My lungs empty as I'm struck in the stomach, launched backwards into the wall of the basement turned training room. The magically reinforced studs strain underneath the pressure and I rebound, noisily slumping to the ground before rolling to my feet as fast as I can. _Bastard caught me off guard._

A whistling to my left forces me to duck, his arm flying above me, my hair fluttering in its wake. I kick out, growling in frustration when I connect with nothing but thin air.

 _"Flighty son of a bitch,"_ I hiss. My back splits open as my kagune bursts forth, flicking through the room at waist height in an attempt to catch Danny off guard. He jumps over it, sending off a few more shots as he does his best to keep his distance.

I lace through the projectiles, my seeker reflexes holding up well as I dodge and weave through the bright crimson globes of hardened muscle. Danny's eyes widen in surprise as I split my kagune into three great claws made of glistening scale, the displaced air shrieking in their path as they rush towards him. He ducks under two, but one connects, and I hold tight, picking him up and then smashing him into the ground, hairline cracks splintering through the concrete.

The claw explodes, bits and pieces of flesh scattering throughout the room as Danny escapes, swearing loudly and pulling in to close range, lashing out quicker than I can react. I cry out loudly in pain, my left arm cut through completely, falling to the floor with a thick _squelch,_ a small puddle of blood forming underneath it. I grit my teeth as the stump bubbles and twists, strands of bone and muscle reaching out towards my fallen limb. They melt together, the arm swinging through the air, a trail of red flying in its wake as it latches back onto my body.

Neat.

I flex the newly reattached appendage, reaching out and grabbing my stunned sparring partner and taking a swift bite out of him, grimacing at the sour taste. I force the tough meat down, my whole body tingling like a live wire, a flood of energy revitalizing me. My kagune twists and tears of its own volition, morphing into a mass of thin tentacles, spearing Danny through and pinning him to the wall. _Got him._

"I give! I give!" he croaks, a thin stream of blood running out of the corner his mouth and trickling down his chin. I release him, pulling my kagune back into myself and watching as he flops over, panting loudly. His head snaps over to look at me, completely incredulous. "Where the _hell_ did you learn to fight like that?" he shouts, eyes like dinner plates.

"Hogwarts can be a dangerous place," I say, shrugging as I steady myself. That fight took a lot out of me. "I had to battle a dark lord, a house sized snake, as well as a horde of demons in my time there." I walk forward and help him to his feet, leaning him against the wall as I cast a few quick healing spells to speed up his recovery. "I guess I'm just good at this sort of thing."

"Good? _Good?_ " he groans, eyes shut in exasperation. "That was fucking _incredible!_ I've never met a ghoul who can fight like you, and that's saying something considering you've been a ghoul all of three months! You're easily A rated fighting like that! Hell, with your regenerative abilities alone you could be an S- if I gave you extra points!"

"So… does that mean I don't need to work out?" I beg, grasping at straws.

"Not a chance. If you're this good now… I can't _imagine_ how powerful you'd be if you really got a hang of things. Jesus... you're not even finished puberty. For all intents and purposes, you're still a kid. Yeah, S+ without a doubt. Christ, you would give some of the Rosewald's a run for their money if you kept up with that," he marvels, before his features twist from excitement to concern. "Just- be careful, alright? What you did earlier… I'm sure you felt it when you bit into me, the _rush_. Eating ghouls… it has its benefits, but it's not without its cost."

"Please, explain," I say, lying down beside him, my legs crossed lazily and one fit tapping away in mid-air.

"Well… it makes ghouls much stronger, but it causes them to start losing their minds in turn. I've… come across a cannibal before. I barely made it out of there alive," he concedes. "The kagune covers the whole body, that's how you can tell one apart from a regular ghoul. It's like a flesh suit. They- they look like monsters, _true_ monsters. Not the pseudo-humans that we are. The guy, he just- he killed everything that moved… _everything_. Even his allies weren't safe. It was a goddamn massacre. Took ten people to put him down."

"That sounds horrific," I manage, shocked at how much tragedy Danny has seen. This… _cannibal_ just wiping out everything, the doves driving him from his home… it's awful, and that's coming from an orphan who grew up in an abusive household.

I reach forward and lay my hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "I'm glad you made it out of there in one piece."

"Thanks," he says, sitting up. "I'm glad I made it out of there too."

We get up, heading off to our own rooms to wash up after the strenuous fight.

"Same time tomorrow!" Danny reminds me, as he shuts his door.

 _"God damnit,"_ I mutter.

"I heard that!"

"Damn you and your super senses!"

I stumble back to my room, muscles throbbing, mentally and physically exhausted, but completely satisfied.

* * *

 **eragon13579:** She's going to bridge the two quite nicely I feel. Ruthless when necessary, but not psychotic like some ghouls *cough* _Jason_ *cough*. But yeah, I feel it would just be a bit more believable for someone who's fought for their life multiple times, killed someone at the tender age of eleven, and has been treated horrifically their whole life to adjust to becoming a monster quite quickly. I never understood why Harry in canon was so well adjusted, considering what a day in the life for him is like.

 **storybook thumb:** I'd highly recommend reading it! If you're a fan of comics, tragedies, horror, or some awesome fight scenes I think you'd enjoy it!

 **Guest:** Thank you! I haven't fully planned out the story and I'm sort of writing it as it comes to me. I have a rough outline of what I want to happen, but each chapter is up in the air in terms of how I compose it, so to say. And no, no smut, no lemons, no explicit down and dirty. I have no personal interest in writing sex scenes, and they'll never be a part of my stories. Nothing against lemons, they just aren't something I feel I can write well.


	4. The Mask I Wear

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Tokyo Ghoul, I am simply playing with the ideas and characters within those universes. Ishida Sui and J.K. Rowling own the ideas and characters associated with their stories.

* * *

 **Chapter Four | The Mask I Wear**

I throw my few shirts and other articles into my bag, layered over top of a couple of books I've nabbed from the library, running my fingers over the coarse denim that the rucksack is made out of, the rough alloy of the zipper flitting across my fingers. My sense of touch has gotten much stronger since I was turned. I can almost feel disturbances in the air, a mosquito flitting past my hand leaves a mark, a slight one, but a mark all the same. The air in its wake lets me know its there, as long as it flies past bared skin. To be quite honest, it's incredibly overwhelming, although it is a phenomenal help in my spars with Danny. I just _know_ when he's attacking me, be it a lunge or a jab, I can feel it coming before it connects.

Speaking of Danny, the skinny ghoul has been on edge, fidgeting and worried. We ran into another ghoul the other night, hunting in our territory. The information we… _coerced_ out of him wasn't relieving in the slightest.

-::-

 _"Do you smell that?" Danny whispers, his hand held up in the air, stopping me in place. I sniff tentatively, searching for whatever has him worried. All I can pick up is the musty scent of garbage, rotten food, and mildew that lines this district. Our own combined scent is mixed up in that, marking this area as ours, not that there's any other ghouls in Leicester for us to worry about._

 _"No, I don't," I reply, shaking my head. "I can't track things the way you do, I'm all hearing and touch."_

 _"Just… watch your back. I think I smell another ghoul," he continues, looking around warily. I guess I spoke to soon. Great job Zoe. Should've knocked on wood._

 _"Another ghoul?_ Here? _"_

 _"As far as I can tell."_

 _We crouch, flitting and leaping across the rooftops, moonlit shadows blurring over incandescent street lights, our steps silent as we hunt. Danny grabs my shoulder suddenly, pulling me back as I prepare to jump over the next building._

 _"Stop," he murmurs, nose flared. "They're here… nearby, whoever it is."_

 _I perk up my ears, listening for any sign of what has him worried. The blaring honk of a car two blocks down, a couple having drinks in the apartment below us, the familiar wet squelch of crushed liver. "I hear them," I say pointing down and to my left. "They're in this alley, already eating. What do we do?"_

 _Danny peers over the edge, beckoning for me to come with him. I look down and see the ghoul that's encroached on our territory. A messy looking man, a scraggly unkempt beard hanging limp from his chin, his lips soaked in blood and small bits of meat clinging to his face, the blood blending in with the red of his hair. He's engrossed in his meal, a young lady, most likely in her mid twenties, his eyes focused on nothing but the corpse in front of him._

 _"We have to send a message, let him and any others know that this is_ our _territory,_ our _land," Danny exclaims quietly. "Otherwise we'd be looking at someone hunting us down to take what's ours."_

 _I nod. I've become more familiar with the beast-like laws that ghouls function under. Food is everything, and land equals food. If you can hold onto that land, you have strength, power over other ghouls that want to pass through or require food of their own. It makes me feel like a cannibalistic baroness. If I ever get discovered, named as a ghoul like the famous One-Eyed Owl of Japan, I hope they call me Bathory._

 _I jump from the roof, kagune bursting from the small of my back and grinding across the walls as I slow my fall. The ghoul below stumbles, glancing up to see his two attackers. "Was zur Hölle?" he growls, the sound echoing off the alley walls as his kagune, a koukaku, flares out, deep purple curved forward in a deadly sweep and wrapping around his right arm like a scythe. He lashes out, punching towards me as I dodge, pushing off the wall and sweeping his feet out from under him._

 _He raises his arm defensively, the flat end of his kagune held out like a shield as a wave of bullets from Danny impact it, the steeled muscle shuddering under the impact. I kick hard against the shield, sending the man crashing into the wall behind him, the brick crunching, long spiderwebbed cracks forming underneath him. Before he can even react, I've impaled him. Thick tendrils driven through his arms and legs, holding him flush against the wall. I can feel his muscles twitching through my kagune, struggling to break free from my grip. I contort it, the sections of the kagune plugging his limbs morphing and twisting, spreading out and folding over him, clamping down hard and reinforcing my hold on the man. He hisses in pain as his bones snap under the pressure, his limbs crushed against the wall._

 _"What are you doing here?" I growl threateningly, my face hidden by the hooded cloak I'm wearing, a single eerie red light shining out from underneath. Danny stands behind me, arms crossed as he leers at the man, his ukaku raised above his head and tight feathered spears aimed towards him, waiting for any sign of movement. "What are you doing hunting in_ our _territory?"_

 _The man glares at me, spitting a glob of blood at my face. I smack it away reflexively, grimacing as it spatters across my hand. "That wasn't very clever of you, was it?" I comment, looking down at the red-handed mark of disrespect dripping from my fingers. I punch the man in the stomach, watching as he sputters and coughs from the strike, a bit of his own blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth and dribbling down his chin._

 _"You heard the lady, 'mein freund.' What are you doing here?" Danny asks, his voice calm and controlled. Good cop bad cop huh? "Just tell us honestly and we'll let you go."_

 _The man stares incredulously, eyes flitting back and forth nervously between the two of us trying to work out what kind of trap he's landed himself in. He chews nervously at his bottom lip, tongue flicking out and licking up the errant trail of blood that trickles slowly from his mouth. "I was just passing through," he rasps, his voice coarse and gravelled, reminding me of a blues singer I heard on the radio once before- Tim Waits I think. "Just wanted some food… been on the run from verdammt doves, couldn't hunt anywhere with them on my tail."_

 _"Doves? You brought fucking_ doves _here? You stupid son-of-a-bitch!" Danny swears, striking the man heavily across the jaw, a pearled chunk of tooth flying out of sight and clinking quietly as it skitters across the ground. "How many? How many were after you?"_

 _The man chuckles dryly, even his laugh sounding worn out and burnt, like the crackle and spit of a campfire. "Scheiße… two of them, standard team. Tracked me from Frankfurt to Calais where I hopped the channel on a ferry. Those arschgesichts have been following me like blood hounds," he explains, still eyeing us warily underneath his calm façade._

 _"What the hell are doves doing in Britain?" I angrily ask Danny. "They're supposed to be in Asia, only a couple in Germany. I could see some being in London, but to make their way this far up north? Something is going on."_

 _"We are all fleeing Deutschland, little girl. Berlin, Frankfurt, even Leipzig has fallen to the doves," the man interjects sardonically. "They cleansed the cities of our kind, dozens of the white cloaks with their Sheißaktentasche, sweeping through the sewers and slaughtering everything."_

 _Me and Danny both pale considerably at this. If the doves managed to clear out whole cities… well we're bloody well fucked if they've tracked this guy up here. "We have to leave Leicester," I say, turning to Danny for confirmation. He nods contritely, obviously not pleased at the situation. "What do we do with him?" I continue, gesturing at the refugee in front of me._

 _Danny doesn't even hesitate. He slits the mans throat from ear to ear, a gushing smile appearing below his chin. The mans eyes widen and he gurgles desperately, moving to clutch at his naked throat, straining feebly against my hold on him, his arms sliding forward slightly before I tear them off of him, the limbs falling to the ground. His head slumps over and Danny presses his fingers up to the crook of the mans neck, checking for a pulse._

 _"He's dead, let's head back and start packing, we leave tomorrow," he states with finality, and I turn to follow, leaving the body behind._

-::-

"Any ideas on where we should go?" I ask, Danny fiddling with his hair, dirty blonde curled around his finger as he thinks. He lifts his head, broken out of his thoughts.

"Haven't a clue, but we need to move. North is the best option, somewhere small where we can lay low for a while," he says, brow furrowed. "We could cut through Nottingham and head up to Sheffield. Maybe go further up into Scotland? Glasgow is large and there's no shortage of gangs we can prey on. We'd probably have to worry about running into other ghouls there, seeing as though ghouls are fleeing over here."

"Glasgow is damned far. Let's get to Sheffield, maybe Yorkshire and see what happens. If we find it safe there, we stay. Otherwise we should trek up to Scotland."

"Then let's go," I reply, throwing my bag over my shoulder and beckoning for Danny to follow. We leap from the window, checking his compass to make sure we're on the right track before heading north. As we walk the city sights slowly turns to suburban, the incandescent streetlights becoming more subdued, quaint houses dotting the roads instead of towering apartments. The houses soon turn to open grassland, forests and farms littered sparsely across the long winding highway. We keep walking through the night, watching as the sun glimmers on the horizon, slowly making its journey upwards and lighting our path.

By noon we've reached Nottingham, crossing the River Trent and into the outskirts of the city. I look around at the rows of houses, uniform in every way, well kept hedgerows and roses growing tidily out front. It reminds me of Number 4, too prim and perfect. I grimace as I remember how I tore into Petunia, eviscerating the poor woman. She was a right bitch, but I don't think it warranted me eating her.

I shrug mentally as we meander further in, old brickwork buildings standing cozily, nestled tightly amongst each other while brutalist office buildings stand opposite, in stark contrast to the century old pubs and apartments. We soon enter into the bustling downtown, thick with frustrated locals attempting to make their way through crowds of starry-eyed, clueless tourists. I throw the hood up on my jumper, ignoring the oppressing heat as I hide my face. I don't want to hear of any ghost sightings around Nottingham.

I pick up the smells of the city, what used to be the tantalizing scent of fresh bread now carries the tepid odour of a used sponge. A butcher's shop emanates the rank stench of bile and rotten cheese. It doesn't make much sense to me how I can correlate these new smells to the old, how they resemble one thing- how I _know_ they're one thing, yet they smell so wrong. Suddenly I perk up, the pleasant musk of bitter dark chocolate flitting across my senses.

I pause, grabbing Danny and directing him towards it, lacing through the throngs of oblivious tourists until we find ourselves in front of a tiny little café, a smattering of tables shaded by blue umbrellas resting on the sidewalk in front of it, people laughing and talking as they drink from steaming mugs or ice filled cups of tea and coffee. I smile widely as I direct Danny in, ordering myself a small cup of black coffee, as I've always been more partial to the stronger, more bitter flavours in life. It probably reflects something about me.

Danny laughs loudly as I take a tentative sip, grinning widely when it tastes just as I expect it to. Black coffee. "This is incredible!" I gasp, excitedly gulping down another mouthful and burning my tongue. I ignore the mild stinging pain and instead marvel at how amazing such a simple thing could be. "We can taste coffee?" I ask, hope in my eyes. "It doesn't make us… you know, sick?"

"No, not at all," Danny smiles, slowly nursing his own cup. He cradles it in his hands, allowing the heat to suffuse him even on such a hot and stifling day. "It's probably the one thing apart from water we can truly enjoy that… _others_ can."

"Well, even if its just coffee I'm bloody _happy_ about it," I announce, happily gulping down the rest of my drink before ordering another, drinking it at a more sedate pace as the caffeine buzzes noisily through my body. I lean back in my seat, letting my tense muscles relax. I've been a bit on edge during our trip over here, jumping at shadows and expecting men in white trench coats to come streaming out of the trees. Its nice to finally be able to sit back and just _relax_ , to not worry about the world around me for a few minutes and just have a blessed moment of silence.

-::-

We decided to stay in Nottingham and set up camp in a derelict apartment building, where I ward an abandoned two-bedroom suite to hell and back, lacing and layering protection after protection over it. I look at my handiwork, four rune stones placed at each corner of the apartment with a binding ward stone resting buried under the floorboards, set dead centre in the apartment. I would know, I measured the bloody thing and made _absolutely sure_ that it was placed exactly there. Augments the wards and all that.

I admire the amalgamation of withering hexes, assorted deadly curses, muggle-repelling wards, and notice-me-nots. To the best of my knowledge, doves aren't magical, so this should make this apartment damn near impenetrable. I knock on the wooden coffee table we nabbed from a gangbanger two floors down. Wouldn't do to invite bad luck to my doorstep, considering naming something impenetrable, unbreakable, impregnable and other synonyms _never_ works out. Case in point: the Titanic.

I've managed to pick up another job to keep myself busy, working at the counter in a local used bookstore. I convinced the elderly owner that I'm of age and should only be paid in cash with the aid of a few confundus charms and a doe eyed smile. The gig is nice, and the shop is quite slow, which allows me to spend a lot of my time reading and catching up on books that I never had the chance to pick up. I'm convinced that the only reason this place is still open is because the owner has nothing better to spend his money on. The plights of being a bored retiree I guess.

I've borrowed a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring, already engrossed in the tale of Frodo's journey towards Mordor and the rag-tag group of adventurers that accompany him. Funnily enough, Frodo reminds me a little of myself. A young and unassuming boy thrown into a world he never could have imagined in even his wildest dreams, fighting for his life and warring against a powerful force of evil. It parallels my trials with Voldemort quite nicely. How I came from admittedly humble roots, scared and unsure of myself in the new world I found myself in, with Ron and Hermione accompanying me on my adventure as my own little personal fellowship. I wouldn't say I'm quite as heroic as the young Hobbit that I'm such a big fan of, but I think I've done some dangerously heroic things. I certainly stood up to a troll in the same way that he did, although it did involve a bit more snot than his altercation in the mines of Moria.

The month has rolled by quickly here in Nottingham. It's dare I say it… peaceful. Of course, October has to be my most hated month, if only for the fact that it harbors the thrice-damned holiday known as Halloween. It doesn't matter how much I love autumn. The sun-kissed leaves taking their rest until their return next spring, the pleasant chill in the air that accompanies their fall. I adore it completely, but it doesn't change the fact that the thirty first of October should not exist on any calendar. If I had the choice it would be stricken away as a national holiday.

Seriously, it's like the world comes together to make my life a misery on the thirty first. Murder, trolls, basilisks, foolish godfathers with a penchant for bad decisions involving revenge. Life just finds a way to make things erratic and unstable come Halloween, and I'm not looking forward to figuring out what pile of shit that it'll land me in this year.

I close my book, marking my page and tucking it into my bag as I begin to close up the shop, ushering out a couple of undecided stragglers and then helping the few who have a stack pay for their novels. I sigh in relief when the last of them are out, grabbing my key and locking up before heading my way home.

I catch shining orange lights out of the corner of my eye as I wander towards the apartment, turning to look at the garish display that's caught my attention; an offensively bright holiday shop, covered in inanimate and mechanical Halloween decorations that are either hanging there eerily or cackling and hissing in robotic tones. I hate Halloween, but I absolutely _love_ costumes.

I walk into the shop, the door creaking ominously as I open it. They _have_ to have done that on purpose. I meander through the small aisles, gazing upon the cheap and tattered plastic outfits displayed along the walls. Renditions of Frankenstein's monster, Dracula, and the creature from the black lagoon, amongst other classic horrors stare back at me with empty eyes and feral grins.

"Are you looking for anything specific?" a voice asks from behind me.

I turn around, spying the clerk. A tall girl with strong blue eyes and messy black hair, falling in frizzy ringlets to her shoulders. "I was wondering if you had anything less…"

"Cheap?" she interjects, laughing quietly. "This is our discount section for costumes, for families that have a harder time affording something for their children," she explains, gesturing at the wall in front of me. She looks at me pointedly and beckons for me to follow, leading me to a grander area of the shop. Impressively made masks are arrayed across the wall here, obviously made of much finer materials. I notice a slew of classic venetian masks, the hooked beak of a plague doctor, the sly grin of a jester, or the grim mouthless façade of a traditional bauta.

I stop in front of a triple faced harlequin mask, a furious expression sandwiched between the sock and buskin, one face crying out in fear and sadness while the other silently screams in laughter, ignoring his partners apparent foul mood. The bottom of the mask is cut out, meant to end just below the nose and frame the wearers mouth so as to leave it open if they need to eat or drink.

From the eyes and above the mask is lined with what was once gleaming gold paint that has been sanded down to a dull bronze, the bottom half smooth and etched like fine marble. I pick it up, marvelling at the weight and texture of the solid, hardened plastic in my hands, flipping it over to look at the interior which is lined with a breathable silk and a series of small, yet sturdy straps. I'm assuming those are meant to hold it in place no matter how inebriated the wearer is while still being discrete and not detracting from their costume.

"I love it," I whisper, running my hands over the work of art as it leers hideously back at me. "How much is this?" I ask, looking up at the clerk inquisitively.

"About a hundred quid before tax," she replies, thumbing her cheek thoughtfully. "But we have had that one for a couple years, no one ever really buys these fancy ones," she smiles, pointing at the incredible masks laid out in front of me. "I think we could do eighty-five on that, but I'll have to ask my boss first."

"That sounds fantastic!" I exclaim, already rummaging around looking for my wallet. I grin triumphantly as I pull out a hundred pounds in assorted notes and march up to the till with my eminent purchase in hand. The lady smiles at me and briskly walks off to the backroom to negotiate with her manager on the pricing. She comes back after a few minutes with a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

"Looks like you're getting that for eighty-five then," she says, ringing through my purchase before wrapping and bagging it, along with handing me my change. "Now, that there is as nice of a mask as you'll ever get, but just in case anything happens to it we do have someone on hand who can do repairs," she offers.

"I'll make sure to treat it well, but if its beyond my means I'll be sure to bring it back," I smile, practically skipping out of the shop with my impulse buy. I happily jog back to the apartment, popping in with an incredibly domestic _'Hey! I'm home!'_ before immediately plopping down onto the couch and drawing out my book. What can I say? I really enjoy Tolkien.

"Welcome back!" Danny calls, striding into the spartan living room, dusting his hands off on his pants and cocking his head inquisitively at the shopping bag resting next to me. "What'd you get?" he asks, sitting down next to me and rifling through the bag.

"The most incredible mask you've ever seen, now get your hands off!" I order, smacking his greedy fingers away and laughing as he pouts mockingly. "I just saw it and I had to have it," I explain, pulling the mask out of the bag and putting it on, smiling broadly as he exclaims his approval.

"That looks fantastic!" he crows, poking the mask to check what kind of material was used. "Wow! You really went all out on this," he whistles. "That's made out of sculpted resin, that's the stuff they use to make the good masks in movies. Were you taking a page out of the Japanese ghoul communities book with this?"

"What?"

"Well, they wear masks to hide their identities instead of just hoods like we do," he explains, remembering how little knowledge I have of the ghoul world.

"So, there's a whole bunch of bloodthirsty monsters just like us running around Tokyo with _very_ fashionable masks?" I inquire, taking off my new purchase and rolling it over in my hands.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. Although, I doubt any of their masks are as cool as yours unless they're some higher up like a Kommandant, or whatever they call those over there," he says, looking down at the mask with a slight bit of jealousy. "I think I'm going to have to get myself one of those."

"Well, the shop is just fifteen minutes away. We could go there tomorrow if you'd like?"

"Sounds like a plan! Might as well get one with Halloween coming up anyways."

I scoff quietly, placing the mask back in its box and resting my feet on the table. "Not a huge fan of Halloween. Makes it a bit of an ironic kick in the arse considering I like fancy dress," I admit, arms held out as if to say, _'what can ya' do?'_ "I was orphaned on Halloween, and shit just tends to go wrong for me on that day ever since," I explain at Danny's questioning look.

"Ah, sorry about that," he apologises, placing his hand on my arm. "I know what it's like to not know your family, so if you ever need to chat, let me know."

"Why thank you, oh bloodthirsty ghoulish monster," I jibe, smirking slightly.

"It's no problem, masked wonder," he snaps back, cackling as I push him away.

I go back to my book, enjoying the companionable silence that we have going as I push through the story. Who knows, maybe this year I'll have a normal Halloween for once?

* * *

 _Look forward to Hogwarts in the next chapter! Tri-wizard Tournament here we go!_

 **Terror Demon:** My idea is that ghouls probably end up a bit unstable when the kakuja isn't completely formed. There'll be a short stint of instability later to add some spice to this story.

 **eragon13579:** So yeah, ghouls in this universe aren't completely confined to Japan, although even canon is a bit shaky on that considering Matsuri spent time in Germany, specifically in Bremen where he wiped out the Rosewalds.  
I'm going to do the Goblet forcing her to Hogwarts in a bit of a different way. No temporal distortion or teleportation here.  
Trust me! I'm going to do my best to avoid Mary Sue'ing Zoe. Nobody is perfect, especially not a witch turned ghoul.

 **ClearSilver:** Yes, Zoe is going to be in the tournament, and it's going to be fucking _wild._


End file.
